


Vending Machines & Coping Mechanisms

by rowofstars



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Pete's World, Post-Episode: s02e13 Doomsday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-22
Updated: 2009-05-22
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little things that help you get by. Rose tries to make a life in Pete's World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vending Machines & Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after an experience similar to Rose's, except I don't have a Doctor and I don't live in a parallel universe...at least I don't think I do. Thanks to my beta, [](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/profile)[anepidemic](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/) for always cleaning up my messes.

The lift doors open on level B1 to a three way intersection. It’s a typical commercial building basement split into long hallways, lined in locked doors, and marked in signs designating them as storage rooms with ever incrementing numbers tacked onto the end. It’s Saturday and every other light is turned off painting the walls in shadowed stripes.

Rose steps off the lift and walks purposefully down the first hallway to her right. The heels of her boots, loud against the tile floor, are a reminder that she is alone down here. There are at least three other basement levels in Torchwood, but she rarely has a need to go down that far. Only a quarter of the people who work here even know they exist.

Some are even afraid to come down here after hours but Rose finds that incredibly silly. There is something about basements with long winding hallways and bad lighting that recalls a feeling of happier times. She rather likes the cool darkness it offers and the gentle din of electricity from the lift controls, the ventilation system and all the other necessities of a large building tucked away in the lower levels. Sometimes, when the day has been too much, she comes down, alone, to sit against the wall in shadow and be no where for a while.

If she closes her eyes she can imagine the hum is the Tardis or remember the feel of the Doctor’s hand in hers, his abundant energy propelling them down hallways, up stairs and around corners to some escape only he knew how to find. There are times where she will flip through the few pictures on her mobile. The one of the Doctor in a silly red paper hat, grinning through a Christmas tree shaped hole in the wall is her favorite and it always makes her smile.

The hall ends in a set of double wood doors with thin panels of glass on each side. They remind her of the countless doors she used to walk through in school, when she bothered not to skip class. The distance between that girl and the woman she’s become is now measured in light years and parallel universes.

Rose pushes the left door open, letting it swing shut behind her with a muted thud, and enters the small break room. Just inside the door is a line of trash bins against the wall, some marked with recycling arrows, and a narrow set of four white cabinets. The bins have been recently emptied and the table tops are clean but the room still maintains a certain amount of friendly disarray. Only one light is on during off hours but it’s enough to see by.

She strides past the cabinets, sidestepping a metal folding chair shoved crookedly against a table leg, and comes to stand in the glaring electric glow of the vending machines. She rolls her eyes at the bright Vitex logo of the first machine. Her father’s various successes in this world never cease to amaze or annoy her. Occasionally she wishes the Tyler family was a little less well known.

She pokes the first oversized button, for some cherry flavored vitamin drink, and trails the pad of her finger down the plastic, letting it go with a sharp snap at the bottom. It’s not late in the day, but she’s tired all the same and these days sleep is rarely restful. She fingers the change in her jean pocket with her other hand trying to decide which soda and snack will quiet her empty stomach.

She’d prefer something more substantial, but options are limited at Torchwood on the weekends. Her mum will probably call later anyway insisting she come over for dinner and not taking no for an answer. It’s just her way of checking up on Rose once a week while trying not to be obvious. One thing Jackie Tyler has never been is subtle.

Rose opts for a simple bottle of water and turns her attention to the snack machine. There is an empty slot in the middle row. It’s the spot usually occupied by those little chocolate cakes filled with marshmallow fluff. She never cared for their thick sweetness but she always thinks the Doctor would love them. It would be something to indulge his oral fixation and sometimes she imagines him lapping at the ivory cream, crumbs tumbling down his tie, grin on his face. The image brings out a memory of the epic genius of edible ball bearings and a bittersweet smile.

One tube in the single fluorescent light left on in the room flickers and buzzes. She squints up at it, daring it to turn off or behave.

It does neither.

In the end, just like every weekend of snack contemplation before, she gets her old standby. The coil turns around three times and then stops, catching the edge of the package and dangling it over the bin. She pounds three times in quick succession on the front of the machine. The bag trembles but doesn’t fall. A red light flashes under the coin slot: out of order.

_Fuck._

There are metaphors to be noted but she’s tired of them all.

She needs to get back to work and wrap up the analysis of this week’s tests, despite the fact that she knew exactly what they would say before she opened the file. The mirrors still aren’t right and more stars appear to be going out. Air flutters out from her lips in frustration. Time is in short supply these days, but then, what else is new. She gives the front of the machine a swift, angry kick and the package falls free. The package is retrieved with a small sigh and a roll of her eyes.

She pivots on her heel to leave as her mobile beeps sharply from its holster on her hip. Pausing, she presses the top edge and it pops free. The display shows one incoming text message and a quick flip of her thumb later she sees it’s from Mickey.

_R – Aliens in Cardiff, meet in 15 – M_

Rose grins and begins tapping out a quick reply, one-handed, as she exits the room and heads back down the hall. The hurried clip of her heels and the melodic beeping of her mobile make the space seem less dense and silent. The lift is still there waiting for her and she enters in one quick stride mindlessly punching the button for the sixth floor with a knuckle. She taps the button for send, hoping the aliens are just serious enough to warrant telling her mum she won’t make supper.

_M – What else is new? :) – R_

 


End file.
